


#AvengersTowerLife

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Ignorant Probably, Consent Issues, Dominant Clint, Exhibitionism, Fix-It of Sorts, Instagram, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Photography, Submissive Coulson, Terrible Romance Logic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every morning, no matter where he is, no matter who he’s with, no matter what sort of world-changing crisis he is managing, Coulson takes the time to refresh his Instagram feed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#AvengersTowerLife

Every morning, no matter where he is, no matter who he’s with, no matter what sort of world-changing crisis he is managing, Coulson takes the time to refresh his Instagram feed. It’s kind of silly, but it’s also one of the limited indulgences that keeps him sane, so he has no problem allowing himself the vice.

He follows one account, and one account only: @AvengersTower

He and the Avengers have sort of an informal understanding, now that Coulson is back from the dead. Informal, because they never really talk about it, never really address his death in any way if they can help it. It goes like this: He’s there for them whenever they need him. Which is often enough that he is never really out of touch with the team, but not so often that Coulson can’t continue his work with SHIELD.

Coulson isn’t sure how Barton became the Social Media Co-ordinator for the Avengers Initiative, but he can’t deny the sniper is damn good at it.

Maybe it was all the years Barton spent perched above the action, waiting for the perfect time to strike, but certainly has an eye for capturing moments good for their public image: Steve looking solemn, praying at church. Thor holding a baby, Jane’s niece, absolutely smitten. The Hulk smiling under a pile of kittens. Tony concentrating under the blue glow of his computer systems. Natasha sharpening a knife while inexplicably hanging from the ceiling. 

But more than that, he was also good at capturing moments that showed how human the Avengers were: Steve and Tony in the kitchen, sipping coffee, wearing worn T-shirts with early morning bedhead. Thor looking hopelessly lost in a WalMart. Tony fixing a toaster, with a determined yet mischievous grin. Natasha knitting a purple and grey scarf, which Coulson guesses is for Barton. 

One particularly memorable one, labeled #cuddlepuddle, was of the Avengers in a pile, on a big, comfortable looking couch watching movies together. (The less publicly known Avengers creatively cropped out.) It’s the only picture with any part of Barton in it, his shoulder. Coulson may have that one saved on his phone for easy access. And backed up on a secure server. And has a printed copy in his wallet. 

The snapshots were never of battle scenes, always of domestic life, which served as a stark contrast to the typical Avengers media coverage.

It took him a while to figure out which of the Avengers was behind the account. He only knew it existed because Pepper sent him a link to the page in a email with a worried tone. At first he thought it might have been Bruce, but the pictures of Hulk combined with the seeming disregard for personal privacy soon negated that theory. 

He successfully guessed it was Barton after recognizing the sharp, cutting humour behind each of the captions. “Don’t tell the bad guys, but these two are powerless without coffee. *wink*” “Thor vs. The Giants of Midgard.” “Bet you can’t find the Hulk in this one.” “Yet another sentient appliance for the Tower.” 

Every photo of Nat, no matter what, was captioned: “Black Widow hones her deadly skills.” 

@AvengersTower was followed by hundreds of thousands of people, and each photo was liked so many times that Coulson was pretty sure nobody noticed that each and every picture had a little heart beside the name @SonOfCoul.

Which is why Coulson takes the time to mention how much he likes the pictures the next time he visits the tower. “They mean a lot to me, actually. Like a window into a home I can’t share.” 

Maybe he’s being a bit dramatic, a bit over-emotional, maybe a bit cruel, but it’s more honest than Coulson has been in months.

“Yeah, thanks.” Barton responds, eyes down. “I just post what I see.” 

And that’s more than Barton has said to Coulson in all the time since he’s returned from the dead, so these few words still give him hope, but Barton leaves the room immediately afterwards, cold and stiff.

Before Loki, before Coulson’s untimely and impermanent demise, he and Barton were kind of close. Closer than an Handler and Agent should be, really. But it worked for them, made them a better team, and Coulson didn’t regret it. 

They had a camaraderie built upon hundreds of successful missions (and maybe a few unsuccessful ones), a mutual recklessness and Coulsons dark deadpan. More than that, what they had - long nights of breaking radio silence, a supportive shoulder after each tough mission, quiet afternoons at SHIELD pretending to watch daytime television - it satisfied a need Coulson didn’t want to admit to. 

Coulson is pretty sure that their friendship died when he did. It was proving to be harder to resurrect, in any case.

Coulson is surprised, then, when he finds himself featured on @AvengersTower. Unnamed, and unidentifiable, but it’s him nonetheless. Or at least it is his form, his back and shoulders and his standard black suit, taken without his knowledge and from a vantage point that Coulson would describe as ‘typical’ for Barton.

“This mysterious #MIB brought us all together and keeps us all alive. We’re thankful, right?”

This was followed by hundreds of comments, most of them echoing Barton’s thanks, which was a nice gesture, sure. Many of the comments, however, were appreciative in other ways. Unexpectedly appreciative, for a feed which regularly featured notable super-hunks like Tony and Steve.

Comments ranged from the innocent: “Gotta love a man in a suit.” and “Would assemble for that hottie.” To the more depraved: “Damn fine. Needs more ass shot.” and “That is a #SAILF (Secret Agent I’d Like to Fuck)”

One comment just read “#BAMF”, a term that Coulson never heard before, but was quietly pleased had been applied to him.

In fact, instead of being upset at Barton for taking and posting a photo of him without his knowledge, like he should have been, he was actually glad to be included in the #AvengersTowerLife hashtag. Besides, Barton was being reasonably discreet, Coulson was unidentifiable to anyone who didn’t already know he was the Avengers handler.

So he never bought it up with Barton or with anyone else on the team, but he did ‘like’ the photo, the only sort of response Coulson really felt comfortable with.

A few weeks later, after a particularly taxing weekend of fighting tentacled robot invaders bent on stealing all of the Earth’s most notable architecture ( _Why?_ ) another photo emerged. 

“By popular demand, #MIB’s back! And by back, I mean he’s got it.”

It was another photo of Coulson. Of his backside, to be more specific.

Okay, Coulson would admit, it was a pretty good photo of his ass, one that prompted him to check in a mirror if it was actually his. (It was.) 

And of course the @AvengersTower followers went nuts for it, something Coulson, again, didn’t understand. Nor did he understand why he was being objectified when Barton seemed to very specifically avoid discussing the attractiveness of his teammates in other posts. 

He decides, after a few sleepless nights, that this isn’t what he wanted at all.

~~~~

“My ass, really Barton.”

“What’s wrong Coulson? It was a fairly flattering photo. I had to work pretty hard for that one.” Barton said, smiling, but somehow not affectionately.

“Don’t encourage the masses anymore. I’m not a piece of meat. Okay?” The words were bizarre on his lips and absurd in the air, but there they were. Coulson could feel his face hot with blush. Absurd.

“Sure, sir.”

The next photo was of Coulson’s hip, shirt untucked, skin peaking through. Coulson has no fucking idea how Barton got that one.

~~~~

“You’re being childish. Just… stop taking photos of me.” Coulson said as he rubbed his eyes in frustration. “It’s not funny.”

“It sucks, doesn’t it. Being out of control. Losing trust.” Barton’s words, clipped and heavy, cut him.

Next it’s his collarbone in perfect focus, necktie pulled aside and shirt rumpled with comments about biting that Coulson is wholly unsure what to do with.

~~~~

“Clint is exceptionally bad at feelings.” Natasha tries to explain, unsuccessfully. “I think he’s working at about a sixth grade level with you. Just be glad he’s not pulling your pigtails.”

“Nothing about this is acceptable.”

“Clint feels the same way.”

~~~~

Coulson is pretty sure that Barton is in the air duct above his Tower quarters. 

There is no clear sign, no noise or indication anyone might be there, just the prickle of hair on the back of his neck and the knowledge of Barton’s misguided vendetta against him.

Coulson isn’t sure what to do, given the circumstances. He doesn’t know why or when he makes the decision, but he does, like a man possessed.

He maintains his posture, perfect, as he removes his jacket and hangs it on the hook on the wall. He starts with his tie, loosened and pulled over his head, he folds it and places it on his bed with ease. Anticipation builds as he moves to his collared shirt, stiff with starch, and starts to slowly take himself apart, button by button. He is too aware of Barton and his camera as he lifts his undershirt off of his chest and starts to fold it neatly. He shivers in the cold conditioned air. It only encourages him.

By the time he gets to his boxer shorts, though, he knows Barton is gone. Which is a good thing, too. He wasn’t expecting to be so hard, but he was: Exposed and raw and inexplicably aroused.

When the photos don’t show up on Instagram the next day Coulson takes it as a win.

~~~~

Coulson is standing in the corridor outside of Barton’s suite. He has been for a while, although he’s not sure just how long, exactly. It hurts just to be there. It hurts to think about why. 

He just stands there silent, stiff and without emotion. Only this control comforts him.

He thinks, in a passing moment of movement, that he might have been waiting, as Barton swiftly opens the door, grabs him by the front of his shirt and tie, and pulls Coulson in. 

Barton is angry. Furious. Furious and in more pain than Coulson has ever seen him ( and Coulson has seen Barton shot up and bleeding.)

Barton is a solid mass, with the smooth efficiency of an assassin and the strength of a fighter and Coulson could defend himself easily, but he doesn’t. Barton pulls him in and pins him against a wall and pulls at his clothes like they are the object of his anger. Barton’s forearm presses against his collar bone, and keeps his backside firmly against the wall. 

Barton’s eyes pierce through him, breathing so close Coulson can feel the air move across his lips, and both of them are panting like there is no oxygen left for either of them.

“Off.” Barton says, as he releases Coulson. 

Coulson obeys, tearing off his clothes as if they are on fire. As if they are the problem here.

Barton has a camera. A Digital SLR that he grabs from off of his pool table and he immediately starts taking photos, rapid and without comment. Coulson doesn’t hesitate until he’s down to his boxers again.

“Everything.” Barton says, and Coulson again follows the order, pulling down his boxer shorts. His erection bobbing in front of him, and he feels elated.

When Barton walks up to him, the anger, at least is gone. Coulson can feel the fabric and Barton’s body against every inch of him.

“Now kneel.” Coulson’s face is against Barton’s shoulder, his cheek drags down his chest and into the crook of his hip as Coulson falls to his knees. He looks up at Barton, eyes shining with tears. 

“Tell me you’re sorry.” Barton says, voice cracking and hoarse.

“I am.” He says, surprised by the weakness in his own voice. A voice that never falters. “I’m sorry. So sorry. It was the wrong call and I’m sorry I let you believe I was dead for so long. It was the wrong call and I’m going to have to live with it forever. I’m sorry Clint.”

There is a deafening pause before Barton starts to fall too, following him down slowly. He lands, kneeling with Coulson, knees between knees, camera in hand. “Phil.” 

Clint drops the camera, places his hands on Phil’s chin and kisses him, hot and wet and like a thousand words that both burn Phil and set him free. “If you disappear again, I make these public.” 

It's not a threat it's a declaration and Phil has to smile. He kisses Clint back in relief as Clint groans. “No, I swear. You will be so besmirched in the event of your death.”

And yeah, it’s fucked up. And yeah, it’s not right. And yeah, it’s the sort of creepy broken logic that makes romantic comedies fail. And fuck, Coulson knows he’s not forgiven yet.

But it’s a start, and for now that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out silly but got pretty dark pretty fast. Damn.


End file.
